


Attested Development

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet [5]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. Well... here we are, boys.





	Attested Development

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since the last one.
> 
> Expect five more parts - presumably in the next year.

Technically, there was no rule forbidding them to converse. He was caught up on his office work, and for the moment, she had no would-be plaintiffs to process. Temporarily closing one of the three lines wasn’t doing any immediate harm. The rain outside had let up to a pleasant patter, versus a biblical downpour. Whatever wrongdoings were occurring in the station’s immediate vicinity seemed to be at a lull. The chairs in the lobby’s waiting area were empty.

Or maybe these were all invalid excuses the two prototypes made up on the spot for the express purpose of simply spending some time together.

He hadn’t told Emilia what the surprise was. To do so would ruin the entire point of such a ploy. She was only forced to wait a scant minute or so before he sheepishly opened a pocket and offered it.

Instantly inquisitive, she plucked up the origami and began examining it with wide eyes.

“It’s - called a paper crane,” Dennis explained, clasping his hands in his lap, to keep them from fidgeting of their own accord. “Origami. An old Japanese art form.”

Maybe she already knew this for herself. Maybe she didn’t.

The notion he, of all people, had spent any time practicing said art form - that much was a complete reveal.

What use was such a skill to an experimental detective android?

Emilia didn’t call him out on it. How useful it was or wasn’t didn’t appear to concern her. Turning the crane back and forth, admiring its pointed silhouette and it’s vaguely-diamond faceted wings, her tone betrayed only wonder: “ _ Orizuru _ . The average pattern takes 17 folds.”

Dennis almost scoffed, albeit with bemused pleasure. In the few seconds it took the receptionist to look at it, she did the research. Impressive computing speed - check. “Yeah, well… it takes me 20, typically, undoing the parts I get wrong. That’s the end result after about six attempts.”

_ And a month of practice. She need not know that part. _

If she felt the urge to ask, she refrained. Glancing up at him, she smiled. “Is it for my counter? I know the humans like to keep small decorative articles on their desks, but… I’m not sure the same goes for my post.”

It probably didn’t. But wasn’t the gesture supposed to mean more than the gift itself?

“If you want,” Dennis ventured, reluctantly as before. He held out a waiting palm. “I could keep it on our desk. My partners wouldn’t mind.”

_ Probably heckle me to no end. And if they don’t, Reed will pick up that slack… after he’s done laughing. But… it was worth a try, right? _

“Excuse me?” A new voice joined the fray suddenly, front door swinging open as whoever it was entered, skirting up to the counter where they had been talking. “Oh, good, you're here, Dennis.” 

Hand still outstretched, Dennis blinked, frowning. He recognized said voice. His processors lagged temporarily in stringing the unlikely elements together.

Good? To see him?

Slowly, he pivoted his head around to look. And paused again at seeing who it was interrupting this not-moment. “Charlie…?”

“Yeah, it's me,” he said solemnly, before ducking his head as if he was trying to hide a grin. “Dennis, as much as it hurts me to say this… you need to arrest me again, right now.” 

With that, he stuck his arms out, wrists pressed together as he patiently waited to be cuffed. 

Just as slowly, Dennis looked from the courier’s face to his proffered wrists and back. “Charlie, this isn’t… how the law works.”

He could hardly fathom anything else to say. This was too surreal, even if he hadn’t been busy with other… prior obligations.

“Pfft, I know how the law works, man.” Charlie rolled his eyes at him, shaking his hands for good measure. “You do something illegal, you get cuffed, and I get in that station. We doing this, or what?” 

A soft, stifled laugh came from behind the counter. “I’d take his statement if I were you, Dennis. He seems unusually adamant.”

Great. Less than a minute here, and the crow already had Emilia in his side. Hadn’t she almost outright barred Charlie from the premises on his last visit? …Was that only yesterday?

“What did you do?” Flatly as he intended that to sound, Dennis blinked again, resetting his expression with a stern, skeptical slant. “Start there, then we’ll see about a charge.”

“Okay, okay, here's the deal. Not only did I directly disobey when two sky cops told me to stop looking into Henry's case, but I also broke into a warehouse.” Charlie gave him and Emilia a triumphant smile, as if this was the best news of the century to him. “And we cut the fence to get in, for good measure. That's pretty serious, right, dude?” 

Posed as he was, hand held out to accept the crane back, Dennis frowned. For the moment, how odd this encounter might look to the nearby humans went by the wayside. If there was anything this android epitomized, it was bringing oddness into one’s daily routine.

Booting up the necessary interface, the RK kept his response limited to one spontaneous facegrab. He made sure to press his palm against Charlie’s mouth, muffling anything the courier might exclaim.

His skin melted away to bare the sensors as an afterthought.

Charlie gave a start, tried to say something, before settling for another exasperated eye roll as he stayed still. His hands dropped.

A commlink invite popped up in Dennis’ vision.

_ Seriously? _

He didn’t answer, no more than he acknowledged Emilia’s next quiet laugh. He was too busy looking, playing back the files at five times normal speed, to ascertain the crow was telling the truth. Within seconds, Dennis found the alluded-to crime.

A long trek in the rain, to an extinct village called Delray. An old warehouse in a grove of elms beneath the Gordie Howe Bridge.

Two accomplices.

A floor full of dismembered spare parts.

The frown morphed into a scowl. Resisting an urge to shove him away, Dennis let go. “You’re under arrest.”

Privately, he added:

_ Happy now? _

Charlie only grinned, holding his wrists up and out in front of him.  _ Very. Lead the way, Dennis!  _

If only he stopped looking so damn enthusiastic about it. Mimicking his newfound-perp’s eyeroll, Dennis reached into his jacket for the cuffs.

Emilia could babysit the paper crane until further notice.

——-

One out of the three freshly-caged birds looked far too pleased about being put in a holding cell. Granted, he had been there once already. Whatever it took to get their collective attention was acceptable, seemingly.

The redheaded one with the mockingbird wings protested instantly. His voice cracked over the intercom as he thumped a hand on the glass. “Hey, you didn’t even read us our rights!”

“Shut up,” Hank Anderson groused. He needn’t remind the thing rights were for humans. When it came to unauthorized landings on the rooftop ledges, they had a right to detain the trespassers however they saw fit. “If you want to talk, you can start by explainin’ what the hell this double-pincer attack was about.”

“Woah, woah, this wasn't an attack, Lieutenant,” Charlie clarified, jumping in to defend the other androids. “But we couldn't all get arrested at the front desk.” 

“No. But you could have simply asked them to wait outside,” Dennis retorted, arms folded, shoulders hunched. He looked no more pleased with this situation than Anderson felt.

Once again, thankfully and not, Jeffrey Fowler was out of the office.

“Whatever the case. Charlie, how does this keep involvin’ you, over and over again?”

“Hey, it ain't just me this time!” Still with that same grin, Charlie gestured to the two other androids in the holding cell with him. “As Joey would say, strange breed we are.” 

Conversely, their third portion - a shorter, brown-haired android with gray-black owl wings that almost looked too big for his frame - balked and backed up against the far wall.

Hands on his hips, Anderson grimaced. “You want to introduce us, then? These two faces don’t ring any bells.”

“Sure. This is Joey,” Charlie began, pointing toward the redheaded android, before changing to the shorter, brown-haired one. “And that's Trevor. We're… we're all owned by Molly.” 

“And you have exactly  _ five _ seconds to explain before we call her,” Hank growled, holding up a splayed hand. Even if he hadn’t been party to every stage of this debacle, he was beginning to regret not heeding Nick’s earning. Whatever infatuation Charlie had with potentially befriending Connor was clearly affecting them all. “Go.”

“Okay,  _ okay,  _ so - that new one, Nines, he did a scan on me to see if there were any matches to those dudes who attacked me? But somehow, some of those files stayed with me.” Taking a breath, Charlie sped up even more to beat the five second countdown, whether it was true or not. “And then I saw this warehouse so the three of us, we uh… brokeintothewarehouse.” 

“...You what?”

The aforementioned RK900 glanced over at being addressed. If it was perturbed by the news it had suffered a glitch, or potentially broken a rule, it’s face betrayed no indication.

It was only standing by as a formality. Joey and Trevor had entered the squad room willingly - practically landing with their hands already in the air.

Dennis, sparing the white-jacked tern a dubious look, shook his head. “Besides that, this warehouse had nothing but an attic full of android parts. Never minding how these three got in, that alone is worth checking out.”

Fuck. Well, that certainly explained why Connor was running late from patrol. No doubt he had been forwarded this address.

“That's what they could've done to Henry,” Charlie added, his excited expression dropping into a more mournful one at the mention of their dead friend. “They have to be stopped.” 

“They… slow down, kid. You don’t even know who  _ they _ are, and yet…” Trailing to a flabbergasted stop, Hank sighed. “God, this is just the opening act to some shitshow none of us knew we held tickets to.”

“I recommend we wait until Connor has confirmed their allegations,” Nines spoke up, positively placid, compared to the unease that had infected the rest of them in no time flat. “ _ Before _ we contact their owner, Lieutenant.”

It wasn’t a bad call. Who knew just what had been unintentionally unearthed here?

Hands still resting on the glass, Joey scoffed - hard enough to fog the window. “We  _ are _ gonna get in big trouble, aren’t we?”

Weirdest part was, he said it with a smile.

——-

To the naked eye, there was nothing on the saturated, muddy ground.

Frozen, eyes wide, Nick took one look at the sizable puddle of spilled thirium and gagged. It certainly explained why he had landed outside the scene, as opposed to inside the perimeter. The evaporated spot was large enough to spy from the air.

“Oh, ugh… one of them hurt themselves bad, I'm guessing.” Taking one more quick look, he turned around gingerly to avoid seeing it. Even if he knew there wasn't any way it could've actually hurt, it still made him feel squeamish to look and imagine the injury. 

Crouching at the invisible stain’s edge, Connor saw the culprit hadn’t fled: a rusty, jagged lip of scrap metal jutting out of the dirt. Clearly, the trespasser hadn’t looked out for it upon threading their way under the fence.

Amazing. Someone had been able to unintentionally match Nick in the clumsiness department.

Pressing two fingertips into the half-dried mud, Connor looked to see his partner wasn’t watching before sampling the clue.

_ #310 424 816 - registered as “Joseph”. Owner: Molly Strand. _

“Oh - do you know who they are now?” Evidently, Nick had turned around during the act, taking a step back as he shook his head of the unsettling image. “Is it who they said they are?” 

“They were here,” Connor confirmed, impartiality as he could manage. Inwardly, he was fuming with the knowledge of what Charlie had done. “Three of them, going by the footprints. And the one that bled is another Overclocked courier.”

“So Charlie, and two of his friends came here?” Nick took a step toward the warehouse, shuddering at the sight of it. “In the middle of the night, with rain? Jeez, that's scary.” 

Sparing the not-there puddle one more look, Connor stood up.  _ And the inside is worse. You might want to stand guard out here. _

Also known as - “keep your over sensitive self put.”

 

Looking back up at the warehouse with a grimace, Nick nodded at him in agreement.  _ Okay, I can do that, Connor.  _

Outwardly, it didn’t appear as though anyone else had visited the dilapidated property. The prints were matches in and of themselves. A scan of the doorknob revealed a hodgepodge of old, overlapping fingerprints - nothing conclusive enough to identify. There were no shed clothing fibers, only a downy tuft of gray material snagged on the peeling doorframe.

A terse scan of it revealed another minor mystery.

_ #205 012 028. Registered as “Henry”. Owner: Molly Strand. _

——-

Watching the conspiratorial whispering, even if the cops’ voices were momentarily muted to them, Joey raised an eyebrow at Trevor. “Maybe you should ask them if you can get your original flappers back?”

Huddled on the bench, elbows on his knees, Trev only glanced up with a sullen frown.

“We're gonna be okay, Trev,” Charlie mumbled, taking a seat next to him on the edge of the bench. “If you want them back, I'm sure they can get them for you.” 

_ Or if you… wanna keep them, that's okay, too.  _

In hindsight, perhaps Trev had the most reason to be moody over the topic of Henry. He wasn’t one to fuss or fret out loud. His reactions tended to be of the more introverted variety.

Put on the spot about it now, all he did was hang his head again.  _ Don’t mention it. I’ll make up my mind later. _

The intercom buzzed again. Hand still on the panel, Dennis peeked around the side of the transparent door. “Charlie?”

Standing up to shuffle partially in front of Trevor, he cocked his head at him. “Yeah?” 

“I just need to confirm, verbally: those aren’t Trevor’s wings, they’re Henry’s?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, they were Henry's.” Charlie shrugged, unsure of whether he should explain more, or not. If they didn't ask, they didn't need to know why Trevor had them instead of Henry. 

Contrary to the attitude and bluster of before, Dennis looked contemplative. He wasn’t a half bad thinker when relatively calm.

“Does that explain why Connor just found unmatching feather down at the scene? How long has Trevor had them?”

_ Since before Henry went missing, duh! _

Tempting as it was, such a sardonic reply wouldn’t go over so well. The RK wasn’t asking to be a jerk. They were just trying to see the puzzle’s incomplete picture.

“I think the day Henry went missing,” he went for an actual explanation instead, brows furrowed as he tried to remember the details. Even if he hadn't stuck around long, with the emergency order, Charlie could at least remember Henry and Trevor discussing the matter. The next thing he knew, he went back to the depot that night, Trev’s wings had been swapped out. He had made his run to Lansing and back in half the time his undersized originals would’ve let him. “Yeah, in the morning. That was the first day.” 

As no rebuttal came from Trevor, Dennis seemed to accept it as true. He nodded. “Not an everyday occurrence, that. We had to be sure.”

“Yep. We're not your everyday androids.” With nothing else to say, Charlie sat back down beside Trevor, one hand drifting to cling to his arm. As much as this  _ was  _ going their way, it also wasn't. Who knew, really, what would happen once all the pieces were fit together and the police decided what to do with them?

Who knew what would happen when Connor got back? Charlie had an idea, but it certainly wasn't in the realm of any praise for going to the warehouse. 

Who knew? It could be just like Trev first thought - an intentional file plant by Nines. Not that the prototype had shown much underhanded behavior, indicating he had some reason to try and mislead anyone, but what if it wasn’t just a glitch in the scan/recog?

If the opportunity arose later, Charlie pinned a note to ask.

What did he have to lose? They were already here. Might as well learn everything they could.

——-

“I know that look, Con. Heads are gonna roll. And, I imagine, even for an android, that’s a bad thing.”

Declining the blatant invite to argue, as had seemingly become Hank’s habitual way of greeting them after such mishaps, Connor went for the holding cells. He spared no moment to smooth out his wind-whipped hair or align his feathers.

1 was vacant.

2 held a party of three androids.

And among them, he recognized one instantly. Without pause, he jabbed the intercom panel.

“Charlie…”

Standing up at the sound of his voice, Charlie had the decency to at least look partially remorseful for what he had done. Or maybe he was just remorseful on account of the tenuous circumstances he found himself in. 

“Hey, Connor,” he said after a moment, hands clasped in front of him with some apparent nervousness. A quick scan confirmed as much.

_ Stress Levels: 28% _

Rather low, at least he wasn’t letting panic permeate the cell.

Wings flicking out, then in, Connor straightened up. “So, here we are again.”

“Here we are,” the courier repeated, but thankfully didn't go for any sarcastic remark, or anything similar to that. “...Not really how I envisioned it, at first.” 

_ Turning yourself in, or graduating from resisting arrest to breaking-and-entering? _

“At first?” Mirroring the words, rather than choosing one action versus another, Connor folded his arms. At the moment, he didn’t care what negative connotations the move sent. “How did you  _ see _ it going?”

“U-Um…” Taking half a step back, Charlie grimaced at his own choice of words, wrapping his arms around his stomach instead. “Well, not really in this cell again. And not having done something really dumb.” 

Benefit of hindsight. Of course only after causing enough of a scene to get back into the station (what was this, the second or third time) did the PC500 think to start backpedaling.

“Something dumb… referring to infiltrating the last known address of a convicted felon?”

“Man, are you gonna just come out and lecture him or not?” Stepping forward, one of Charlie’s two colleagues leveled an impatient glare. “Because if you are, it goes for Trevor and I just as much as it does him.”

“Joey, please,” Charlie turned to him, shaking his head with some desperation. “Don't talk back right now. And, yes, that's what I mean, Connor.” 

Well. At least this confession was proving far easier to obtain than the first.

Brows low, Joey went for an indignant silence. He crossed his arms, a very deliberate imitation of the detective’s posture. One forearm bared a noticeable, lateral tear along its sleeve.

_ That’s one ID confirmed. And the other… no reason he would be along if he wasn’t the third party. _

Drumming his fingers on one elbow, Connor squinted.

_ …Well? _

The critical look spoke volumes he didn’t have to.

_ That's… Trevor, on the bench if you're wondering.  _ Charlie tried for a pleading look, wide eyed at him.  _ It was my plan, Connor, not theirs’. _

_ …And? _

_ And it was dumb and reckless, and my fault?  _ Charlie frowned, trying to figure out what Connor wanted him to say or admit to. His LED spun yellow.  _ I shouldn't have done it, I’m sorry. _

_ How did you even know of such a place? That’s the part I’m wondering about. _

_ …The scan, that Nines did. Somehow some of the files stayed with me, of what he found out… the warehouse was one of them.  _

“And you didn’t think to delete it? Or inform us?” Snippy as that may have sounded, part of the ire felt like a weapon backfiring onto its wielder. Charlie wasn’t the only one who could have taken preventative steps in reporting a faulty scan/recog.

Nines could have admitted to it before ever letting the courier leave the station.

Instead, here they were.

“You told me to leave it up to you, so I knew it would be deleted if I told you,” Charlie admitted, shrugging with his confession. He looked down at the floor, visibly more ashamed then before. “I didn't - I wanted to see if there was anything there.” 

Connor stopped drumming his fingers.

With a quick palm scan for access, he wheeled his way into the cell. The door quickly slid shut as he grabbed Charlie by the collar with both hands.

“And if there  _ was _ ,  _ how _ do you think you would’ve ended up?”

Giving a tiny startled cry, Charlie looked back up at him with even wider, blown out eyes at the physical contact, but didn't pull away from him. His LED blinked between red and yellow. “Bad, it - it would've ended bad for us, really bad.” 

Predictably enough, Joey didn’t take kindly to seeing his associate (presumably) on the verge of being roughed up.

“The fuck is this? Hands off the kid, Freckles- hey!”

Swatting the hand that grabbed for him aside, Connor automatically grabbed for the oncoming right wrist, twisting it away from his face and over on itself.

A wrist attached to the same wounded arm. The maneuver apparently didn’t feel too pleasant.

Cringing against the discomfort, Joey wilted like a flower petal held to a flame. “Ow, ow,  _ owww  _ \- okay, okay, lay off. Jeez.” 

“My name is Connor.  _ Not _ Freckles.”

_ He didn't mean anything by it, Connor, please, don't hurt him.  _

Released, Joey almost stumbled in his haste to put some distance between them. Wings half-wrapped around himself, defensive, his expression twisted with equal parts annoyance and anger. “Hardass. I’ll make a note of it next time I insult you behind your back.”

Belatedly, Connor took notice of his own right hand, still grasping Charlie’s hoodie, then thought to let go. “You know I wouldn’t really harm any of you. But I have reason to be disappointed right now.”

“We know,” Charlie said, taking his own step back from Connor, despite the admission he wouldn't be hurt. “We're sorry, Connor.” 

“How much more ass do you need to kick before you believe him?” Their third, Trevor, hadn’t moved from his spot on the cot’s edge. “Because that’s about our quota for suffering police brutality today.”

“Just as I’ve hit my tolerance for suffering your ignorance.” Almost in a growl, Connor stopped to will his voice level again. “You make a farce of turning yourselves in, you’re in no position to say how we receive it.”

“We wanted to get past the desk,” Charlie tried to explain, but abandoned it as soon as he did so. “We know that, though. I dunno what else to say, Connor, I'm sorry.” 

If it wasn’t clear before, he may as well give the lesson one last try.

“An assurance that from now on you will stay  _ out _ of the matter is what I want to hear, Charlie. Harsh as that may be, to think anything worse could’ve happened to you, because of our carelessness,  _ that _ I will not tolerate with any amount of humor. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Charlie mumbled, nodding his head along with the word. “We'll stay out of it, from now on.” 

Somewhat mollified, the RK pressed a little harder. “You saw what was on the top floor. Those parts didn’t just find their way there by themselves.”

“Mhm.” He nodded again, keeping his eyes steadily trained on the ground in front of Connor, not willing to look back up just yet. His LED kept spinning.

“That could’ve been you. Or either of your friends. Worse already happened to Henry. You think Molly wants to lose any more of you than she has?”

“No,” Charlie breathed his reply out, before making an odd half-gasp, half-hiccup sound, hands beginning to shake at his sides with some effort. “N-No, she doesn't.” 

From experience, Connor knew what those symptoms led to. The first time it happened to one of his partners, there was an experience he wasn’t keen to repeat.

But he was even less keen on the idea of finding Charlie as an offline body in an alley somewhere.

“Did you stop and think of her last night? During that  _ long _ walk to Delray? You think any measure of self-sacrifice by you will somehow bring Henry back?”

At the mention of Henry, Charlie took another step back, hands going up to cover his face as he began to cry, shaking his head as he did so. “N-No, no, I… I don't think that, I know he's not coming back, please, don't talk about him like that.” 

_ So, don’t give me any more reason to, all right? _

He didn’t wait for an answer. Backing away, the door slid obediently open. Livid stares from both Joey and Trevor followed him out. The moment the cell closed back up, Trevor stood, wrapping both arms and wings around Charlie like a protective shawl.

In contrast, Joey made the strangest gesture: with two fingertips he pointed back at his own eyes, before turning them toward the window, making a short jabbing motion as he did.

Odd how his arm didn’t seem to be paining him very much all of a sudden.

——-

Typically, Nick had no reason at all to go near the holding cells. Anyone who was typically locked up in there made him nervous, far too nervous. And those types of people didn’t need to see his anxiety. Better they continue under the delusion all RKs were made of steel.

Figuratively and literally.

And after watching Connor make a quick retreat from where they were holding the three courier androids, he felt even less inclined to do so. Whatever the primary had said to them, Nick was fairly sure he could hear someone crying. 

He was quite familiar with what that sounded like, from personal experience, and that it wasn't any fun to have someone you didn't really know gawk at you as you tried to contain your emotions. 

He resolved to stay right at their shared desk, head down as he tried to tune the sounds out. What had Connor said, to make one of them upset like that? He only knew one out of the three in there, but if they were anything like Charlie, he was sure they were tough ones to make cry. 

It was only when the slightly-muffled music started to play, that Nick got curious enough to take a closer look. 

“ _...like to make myself believe, that planet Earth turns, slowly…”  _

He lifted his head up at the newness of the song. Since when did anyone do that around here? Hank had his music, but he wore his headphones to keep it to himself. No one in the office ever played anything aloud.

No one who actually worked at the office, that was. But anyone they might have in their holding cells, any androids…

“ _ \- hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep, ‘cause everything is never as it seems…”  _

Well, hopefully whoever was crying at least felt okay enough if he just took a peek. If they weren't, Nick could always come back later, and check in on them. Even if this time, they had actually committed a crime, he couldn't help but feel bad for anyone crying, especially another android. 

Creeping his way over to holding cell Number 2, it became apparent that yes, it was one of the three in that cell that was playing the music, by the way it grew in sound, but never too loud. Even when he was almost in front of the cell, it was still kept at a soft enough level, pulsing through the glass. 

Inside, Nick couldn't help but be a bit surprised by which one of them was crying, the only one he actually knew the name of - Charlie. He was sitting on the cot, the two other flanking both of his sides, head resting on the brown-haired android's shoulder as he continued to shudder.

What had Connor  _ said  _ to him, to get him this upset? 

The music maker was probably the redheaded one then, who kept patting Charlie's back with reassurance. It seemed to be originating from him, somehow, even with no music player. Maybe it was him, himself? His own voice synthesizer, doubling as a music speaker?

No time to focus on that now, not when Charlie was so obviously distressed. It wouldn't hurt to at least check up on them all, ask if there was anything they needed, or that he could do for them.

Timidly, he raised a hand to the intercom panel, pressing on it gently to speak to them all. “Hello? Charlie? Are you all… okay?” 

Charlie started at the sound of his voice, eyes raised toward him for a moment before they closed, turning to burrow deeper into the brown-haired android’s arms. 

Nick half expected that reaction. He wore virtually the same uniform as Connor. One glimpse, after whatever had just ensued, was probably too much for Charlie to see.

He took a half step back from the glass, making eye contact with the two other androids for a moment. Neither of them seemed particularly happy he was there, but neither of them were yelling at him to back off either. He could take that as a sign it was okay to ask another question, turning his focus away from Charlie and onto the red-headed one, since he was closer. 

“Is there anything I could - do, to help? Or are you okay, being alone a bit longer?” 

“Just hold our phone calls, Stretch.” There was no humor in the courier’s tone or face. “Somethin’ tells me we’re better off staying in here a spell.”

Nick almost wanted to comment on the odd nickname, but instead just nodded yes, shuffling so that he was slightly out of the way of them seeing outside, but still near the cell. Maybe it was just his own emotions playing up again, but some amount of innate protectiveness over them surfaced at the crying. If he stood here, there was a chance no one else would come wandering over, to point fingers and mock.

“...Probably, for now at least. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

They didn’t, as it turned out.

Just a silent sentry.


End file.
